


Coalescence

by SoulStealer1987



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Moira, Background Relationships, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Gay, If You Squint - Freeform, Just for the record, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Redemption, Remember When I Said I Regret Nothing?, Sombra definitely writes fanfic in her spare time, Talon OCs are here for comic relief and/or exposition, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, lots of flashbacks, told entirely from Moira's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13084083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulStealer1987/pseuds/SoulStealer1987
Summary: [COALESCENCE] - [NOUN]Definition: The process of blending, or coming together.~Dr. Moira O’Deorain is not an emotional woman. In fact, many would think her quite the opposite. Considering the things she’s done, one would think she doesn't have a basic sense of morality, never mind emotions. However, it's currently taking all of her self-control and then some to keep her usual cold demeanor from cracking, because this situation is… not ideal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I fell into this ship. Hard. I've got most of the story written out, with the exception of the last couple chapters, but trust me I know what's going to happen. Actually, you might not want to trust me, because ohhhhh boy this is gonna be one heck of a ride. Prepare for fluff, but in the past, because Moira can't seem to be happy in the present. Not that I blame her, considering the circumstances. Prepare for major angst throughout the story. It's rated T for language and canon-typical violence, in case you were wondering.

Dr. Moira O’Deorain is not an emotional woman. In fact, many would think her quite the opposite. Considering the things she’s done, one would think she doesn't have a basic sense of morality, never mind emotions. However, it's currently taking all of her self-control and then some to keep her usual cold demeanor from cracking, because this situation is… not ideal.

“While I must congratulate you on your success,” Maximilien says in his usual synthetic monotone, “I believe you are forgetting something.” He’s challenging Akande Ogundimu, _Doomfist_ , which is not only dangerous but interesting as well. Moira leans forward in her chair slightly, and wonders if Sombra too considers it interesting. She might not be here physically, but Moira’s certain she's found a way to listen in. She always does.

“And what, exactly, am I forgetting?” Akande asks, fixing Maximilien with a cool glare. “We’ve captured one of Overwatch’s most prominent members. We can make her talk.”

Maximilien nods, although Moira can faintly hear his internal fans whirring. They’re typically not audible. If they are, that means he’s taking this quite seriously, even more so than normal. Considering that he's normally one of the more serious council members... he definitely has something planned.

“One,” Maximilien says, holding up a synthetic finger, “she hasn’t talked yet. Not a word. What makes you think you can change that?”

Akande opens his mouth, then closes it. Maximilien appears not to take notice - although Moira’s sure he does - and puts up another finger.

“Two,” the omnic continues, “even if we can get her to talk, what do you even intend to do? Do you plan to brainwash her, and send her back? Overwatch won’t fall for the same trick twice. Although they are quite stupid, to the point where it's rather sad we haven't wiped them out yet, they aren't that stupid.”

Akande clears his throat. “I believe we can learn about her technology, and adapt it for use on our agents.” Maximilien nods respectfully, although the whirring is still audible, perhaps even more than before.

“So you hope to take resurrection away from them, and instead bring it to our side,” Maximilien muses aloud, bringing his hand to his chin and stroking it, as if he had a beard there and not a piece of metal. “Admirable, and in theory, it may work. In practice, however, I suspect it will be quite difficult. Our prisoner is the only person alive who knows how to do such a thing. One wrong move, and it may all be for naught.”

Akande groans, and it’s then Moira knows who’s won this battle of wills. Akande may be stronger physically, and he’s certainly not stupid, but Maximilien quite literally has a computer for a brain, and he only fights battles he can win. Moira glances over at Gabriel, who looks exceptionally bored, even with the mask. She doesn’t blame him. She too would be bored, if the prisoner whose fate is being decided was literally anyone else. Unfortunately, the prisoner whose fate is being decided is not anyone else.

“What would you suggest,” Akande says darkly, _“Maximilien?”_ He says the omnic’s name the same way Gabriel would say ‘Soldier: 76’, or perhaps the man’s real name. Moira thinks on this for a moment, and wonders how Jack Morrison thinks he’s fooling anyone. If Sombra’s intel is any indication, he’s still pretending he’s someone he’s not, and the rest of Overwatch knows full well who he actually is.

“Since attempting to convince her to give up her technology to us will likely be futile,” Maximilien says, “I believe we should simply skip to the part where we kill her afterwards.”

Moira looks Gabriel’s way again. He still looks bored, perhaps more so than before. His expression is unreadable, mainly due to the mask. Moira still isn't sure if said mask is supposed to be an owl, a skull, or something else entirely. Communication isn't exactly Talon’s forte, so she's never asked, and likely never will. Perhaps Sombra will, someday, eventually. She's curious, maybe too curious for her own good, but as a scientist, Moira can respect that. As the American saying goes: curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. Or, in Sombra's case, brought _her_ back.

For being a Mexican girl, Sombra’s surprisingly American. Gabriel’s the opposite. Despite his very clear American accent, mannerisms, and everything, he speaks Spanish too fluently to not be Hispanic. Speaking of Gabriel, Moira’s mildly surprised he hasn't spoken up. As far as she knows, he and the prisoner had been close, once. Then again, he and Morrison had been close as well, and they try to kill each other on a surprisingly regular basis.

Well, if Gabriel isn't going to speak up, then someone has to. Moira closes her eyes, thinks through her own argument, and clears her throat. If she’s doing this - and she’s definitely doing this - then she’s got to do it right.

“You both bring up good points,” Moira says, well aware that all eyes - and whatever omnics have instead in Maximilien’s case - are on her, and equally aware that what she's doing is extremely risky, and probably not the greatest idea. In retrospect, she’ll probably be cursing herself later, but if she doesn't say something now, she knows she’ll regret it forever.

“Yes,” Maximilien agrees, clearly waiting for an answer. Akande says nothing but manages a curt nod.

A scientist must be observant, and Moira certainly is. She knows how to appeal to two vastly different people - people that rarely agree on anything - with the same offer. This skill has helped her out many times over, and it's about to do so again.

“Ogundimu, you’re right, having her technology would be a great asset,” Moira continues. The way to get him to actually listen is to first appeal to his ego, which is perhaps bigger than it should be. “Maximilien, you are correct in that the odds of success are not high, but perhaps they can be increased.”

Maximilien nods after a moment. His internal fans whirr. “I am listening.” Unlike Akande, Maximilien is quite reasonable. If Moira can overcome Akande’s sheer stubbornness, it's quite likely Maximilien will agree to a compromise.

“Earlier, Ogundimu referenced Project Widowmaker as an example of what we could do. If coercing her to give up what she knows willingly fails, we could simply skip the part where we send her back to Overwatch and incorporate her into Talon to begin with.”

The whirring of Maximilien’s fans becomes inaudible, and Moira takes that as a sign that she's doing something right. Then Gabriel shifts in his chair, leans forward, and cracks his neck.

“That would require far more work than simply killing her,” Gabriel mutters, although Moira suspects he has an ulterior motive. He wants her dead, perhaps. One more name crossed off his list. Unfortunately for him, Moira is not going to let him cross off _her_ name, not if she has any say in the matter at all. “Someone who knows what the hell they're doing would need to deal with her, and I'm sure as hell not.”

Maximilien suddenly becomes very interested in the table, making his answer quite clear, and Akande clears his throat.

“Well, I would rather not do it either,” he says, “and Sombra would only do it if she wanted to.” Gabriel groans.

“She doesn't want to do it,” Gabriel concludes prematurely, “nobody wants to do it. We should just kill her and be done with it.”

Moira sighs. If this was an anime, then now would be the perfect time for something dramatic involving her glasses, but this wasn't anime, and she'd been wearing contacts for decades. Instead, she leans back, folds her hands, and fixes her gaze on Akande.

“I'll do it,” Moira forces out, staring the man down. He raises an eyebrow.

“Really?” Akande asks. “Why?"

Moira takes a deep breath before answering. “With all due respect, you and Reyes are not the only ones who hold major grudges.” It's not the truth, it's not even close, but it's enough for Akande. He nods, satisfied, and cracks his knuckles. As usual, Moira doesn't voice her discomfort. There's no point, and she prefers not to do pointless things. Of course, then there’s what she just volunteered to do. Chances are it's pointless, that she won't be able to change a thing... but she has to try. She owes it to her past self to at least try.

“Understood. Then, if no one has any objections…”

Reyes shifts in his seat, drums his fingers/claws/whatever they're supposed to be on the table, but stays quiet. He's clearly not happy with this outcome, and Moira will have to keep an eye on him, but for now, it seems, she's in the clear.

“Dr. O’Deorain will take over dealing with the prisoner from now on,” Akande says. “This meeting is adjourned.”


	2. Chapter 2

Later, over a steaming cup of good Irish coffee, Moira contemplates just what she's gotten herself into. As predicted, she's internally cursing herself. She would do so externally, too, except there are cameras everywhere and then some, and the last thing she needs is someone to think she's having doubts.

_“So this is the highest point in the base? Interesting,” Moira muses aloud, taking a seat next to Angela. This place isn’t exactly safe, to say the least, and the wind is positively freezing. “Aren’t you scared? A fall from this height would kill anyone instantly.” She glances over at Angela, who looks completely at home and not at all scared. Moira wonders momentarily how much she’s been up here in the past to be this much at ease._

_“No, I like it up here,” Angela says, smiles, and suddenly everything Moira had to deal with to follow her here - the bitter cold, the shaky ladder, the biting wind - is worth it, just to see her smile. She smiles too little these days. “And anyway, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think it was safe. Having doubts?”_

_“No, of course not, my dear,” Moira says. “I trust you.” Angela’s grin grows, and she carefully inches closer. When she’s close enough, Moira carefully slips an arm around the younger doctor, and pulls her close._

_“My favorite place on base, and my favorite person,” Angela says, and leans in with a sigh. “Things can’t get much better than this.”_

Well, actually, they wouldn't be wrong about her having doubts, because she definitely is. Most of her is, anyway. Part of her is determined to go through with it, to keep _her_ safe in any way possible, and that part is more stubborn than Akande on a bad day. It’s not letting go. Moira would like to believe she can force it to, but scientists don’t - or rather, shouldn’t - skew the facts. Moira may not be a good person by most standards, but she's a _damn_ good scientist.

_“It’s unethical,” Angela says slowly, “and it’ll never get approved. Moira, I can’t.” Moira continues to watch Angela work for some time. She tries not to look too closely at what - well, who - Angela is working on. She knows full well that she'll be sick if she does._

_“Science is not unethical, dear,” Moira reminds her gently. “Only its applications. And is saving someone’s life really that terrible of an application?” Angela stops, and sighs. Before she continues, she takes her hair out of its messy ponytail and reties it into an even messier one._

_“Moira, I want to save him just as much as you do. What happened to him… it isn’t right. But I’d like to exhaust every legal option I have before we get into the more dubious ones.”_

_She continues working, and Moira continues thinking. Eventually, she hits on something Angela can’t say no to._

_“Angela, hear me out on this,” she says, “but isn’t the whole point of saving his life to have a secret weapon against the Shimada Clan?” Angela nods._

_“Yes,” she agrees in that tone that means she’s paying more attention to her work than Moira. It doesn’t bother Moira, too much, although they definitely need to talk about this. Not now, though. Later. Preferably when neither of them have much to do._

_“If you’d have to get this cleared, then that would defeat the purpose,” Moira reasons. “So why not go through Blackwatch? You wouldn’t have to get clearance, the Shimada Clan won’t know what hit them, this kid gets to live. Seems pretty good to me.”_

_“You know…” Angela sighs, and turns to face Moira. “I was about to argue, but that’s actually a good idea. I’ll talk to Reyes.” She takes one step away from the prone figure on the exam table, and five different monitors begin beeping at once. Angela winces._

_“You know what, I’ll talk to Reyes, bring back some coffee,” Moira says, “you keep this kid from dying in the meantime. Alright?”_

_“Alright,” Angela agrees, and picks up a scalpel. “I’ll see what I can do… and Moira?”_

_“Hm?” Moira’s almost to the door at this point, but she’s in no particular rush. Angela meets her gaze and smiles._

_“I love you,” Angela says sincerely. Moira smiles, slightly._

_“I love you too,” Moira replies, then ducks out._

She sips her coffee slowly, so as not to burn her mouth, and tries to convince herself not to go through with this, to just agree with the other plan, to just… let Angela die.

There. She said it. Well, thought it. And that’s something. Still, some small part of her winces at even that. Moira suspects that’s the part of her digging its heels in and refusing to budge, the part still stubbornly holding on to memories of a time long gone. That time is never coming back. Moira needs to move on from this, from her… but she can't.

And even if she could move on, how _could_ she just let Angela die?

_It was one of Angela’s first missions as a combat medic, because apparently having her keep people from dying on base wasn’t good enough. Things had gone pretty well. No one died, which was a plus, but Angela was shot in the arm and passed out from blood loss moments after getting back. She’s still out, but the good news is, she’ll be fine soon enough. Well, Moira has a thing or two to tell Morrison, but that’s irrelevant._

_Angela sighs in her sleep, and Moira’s struck again by just how peaceful she looks. Lately, she’s been extremely stressed. They both have. But it seems Angela can at least escape it in her dreams._

_Moira’s not so lucky herself._

_“You need to be more careful, my dear,” Moira says unnecessarily, in the futile hope that Angela’s actually awake and listening. She’s not, although she should be soon. “I know I say that every time, but really. I don’t want to lose you.”_

_Moira takes one of Angela’s hands in hers, and gently squeezes it. She’s not expecting a response. She doesn’t get one._

_“You know,” Moira whispers, more to herself than anyone else, “my doctorate might be in genetics, not medicine, but damn it all, I won’t let you die. Not on my watch, and that’s a promise.”_

_Angela still doesn’t react, which is probably for the best, considering the gravity of what Moira just promised. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s a promise, and Moira doesn’t break promises, even if the only witness is herself._

Moira sighs, drains the last of her coffee, and sets the mug down with a thud. Closing her eyes, she leans back in her chair, and wonders what she’s even trying to do. This is only delaying the inevitable. Eventually, Angela will die, or perhaps wind up with a fate worse than death, not unlike what happened to Amélie Lacroix.

_“Hey,” Angela says tiredly, leaning against Moira’s doorframe. “Mind if I hang out for a moment?” Moira doesn’t at all, although she smells the alcohol on Angela’s breath when she passes._

_“You’ve been drinking again,” Moira concludes. Angela grins sheepishly, another tell-tale sign that something is off. “We both know you can’t hold your liquor, my dear. Don’t blame me when you wake up with a hangover tomorrow morning.”_

_Angela laughs. “Hangover, no hangover. Right now, I just want to forget about… well, you know.” She opens a cabinet, undoubtedly looking for alcohol. Moira hugs her from behind._

_“Angela, Angela, light of my life. We both know that I keep my alcohol well out of your reach.”_

_Angela pouts. She’s definitely drunk. “Then I’ll- I’ll-”_

_“That’s it,” Moira says, “there’s no way in hell you’re making it back to your room on your own. Do I need to escort you, or are you staying here tonight?” Angela thinks on this for a moment, then another, then several. Eventually, she turns around and buries her face in Moira’s chest, making her answer quite clear. Moira doesn’t mind this at all, although she’d prefer better circumstances._

_“We should have known Talon wouldn’t just give up like that,” Angela murmurs. Moira rubs her back reassuringly. “I should have- I should have-”_

_“It’s alright to fail sometimes, Angela,” Moira insists. “It’s alright to fail, as long as you learn from the failure, and make sure it never happens again.”_

_“Alright,” Angela says. She hugs Moira tightly, and doesn’t seem to be planning on letting go anytime soon. “Thank you. Really.”_

_“It’s nothing,” Moira answers. “Now, deep breaths. It’ll be alright.”_

She winces slightly just thinking of that. No one deserves that fate. Widowmaker didn't, hadn't, and neither does Angela. However, Amélie Lacroix had nothing to do with Talon herself, minus her marriage, and it hadn't stopped them then. Moira would be a fool to think that Talon would ever spare anyone, never mind Angela. Especially not Angela.

_“You remember the last mission I was on?” Angela asks suddenly. “The King’s Row one?” Of course Moira did, it was impossible not to. There had been an incredible amount of controversy surrounding it, although Moira was of the opinion that going to stop the Uprising was the right thing to do. Nevermind that everyone on it had come back heavily injured._

_“Yes,” Moira says carefully. “What about it?” Angela doesn't answer immediately, and that's when Moira knows what this is about._

_“If I hadn't gotten injured, I would have been on the mission that Captain Amari died on,” Angela says. “Do you think-?”_

_“Angela, my dear,” Moira murmurs, “although it's entirely possible you could have saved her, it's far more likely that Talon would have gone after you as well, and Overwatch would have lost the both of you.”_

_“But I could have saved her. I should have saved her. I-”_

_“It's useless to dwell on the past,” Moira continues. “You have to move on from this. We all have to. And we will.”_

_Angela takes a deep breath, and nods._

When Moira closes her eyes, she can imagine Angela’s shy smile, her easy laugh, her cool blue eyes. She knows she won't be seeing either of the first two ever again, and she honestly doesn’t know what her eyes will be filled with. Anger? Hurt? Sadness?

Truthfully, she doesn’t want to know.

_“Somehow, I’m not surprised to find you here,” Angela says. “Reyes was looking for you.” Moira sighs, and turns in her chair. (It’s a swivel chair, and it's amazing. Moira doesn't know what she'd do without it.) She opens her mouth to issue a rebuttal of some sort, then closes it as she spies the look in Angela’s eyes._

_“He knows where to find me, my dear,” Moira murmurs. “It’s rare that I’m not here.” She raises her mug to her lips and sips it carefully, not taking her eyes off Angela._

_“I know,” Angela says, and nods, but her disappointment doesn't fade. “Moira, I don't know what it was about, but it seemed important.”_

_Moira suddenly realizes something or rather, remembers something, and nearly drops her mug. “Oh, shit,” she mutters, placing her mug back on her desk. “Thanks, Angela, but it looks like I've got to run!”_

_Angela nods. “I'll see you back here in an hour?”_

_“Maybe two hours,” Moira admits as she pulls her lab coat back on. “This'll take a while, but I’ll definitely see you then, my dear.”_

Moira sighs, and forces herself up, grabbing for her mug on the way. Tomorrow is another day, and tomorrow is also the day she begins with… with Angela.

_“Hey,” Moira says as she shoulders the door open, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee with her. Angela looks incredibly relieved. “So, my dear, is that a pencil in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”_

_Angela laughs as she takes her mug, and shoots Moira a knowing look. “That was terrible, you know.”_

_“Really?” Moira feigns surprise. “Are you referring to me or the pickup line?”_

_“Both,” Angela says cheerfully, then leans in and pecks her on the lips. “But I love you for your terribleness, among other things.”_

_“Other things?” Moira raises an eyebrow. “Like what, how I am in bed?”_

_Angela nearly chokes on her coffee. “Moira!”_

_“You know you love me,” Moira says as she sips her own coffee. “For some odd reason.”_

_“Some odd reason indeed,” Angela repeats happily, sipping her own coffee. “Does love really need a reason?”_

Traditionally, Irish coffee has whiskey added to it. Moira’s beginning to realize that the genius who created it may have been onto something.

She certainly could use something to take her mind off things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a chapter on airport wifi be like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyway! This chapter was supposed to come out a few days ago, it would have, too, except that I've been sick the past couple days. Yes, I was sick on Christmas. It sucked. Don't be sick on Christmas. Putting that aside, I did get the rest of the story at least drafted out. That is assuming that I was able to write halfway-decently while my mind decided to quit on me, but hey, you never know. Miracles happen. Occasionally.
> 
> On a different note, if you have anything you want to say, anything at all, feel free to put it in the comments! I like comments, and I like chatting! Constructive criticism is most appreciated, but it's nice to hear what I did right, what I should do in the future, potential plot ideas (even if I don't use them in this fic, they might spark a future one!), even jokes would be great! (Actually, I love jokes. Please send me jokes.)
> 
> Also, if you're one of those peeps who are as obsessed with Moircy/Moicy as I am, y'all should head over to the Moicy Discord. It's great and I think the authors of more than half of the Moircy stuff on here stalk the server every now and then. 
> 
> ...
> 
> Yeah, okay, I'm gonna actually get to the story now. Sorry about that, I just like talking. And stuff. Unfortunately I tend to make a fool of myself most of the time. And-
> 
> Okay that's enough on to the story.

The next morning, Moira shows up two hours later than intended with one hell of a hangover and a lot of regrets, some old, some new. Fortunately for her, there’s only a few soldiers guarding the room, none of whom are able to see past her not-hungover facade. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath to brace herself and hopefully alleviate some of her pounding headache, and turns to the highest-ranking guard.

“You’re relieved for now,” Moira says firmly, in a tone that suggests the matter is _not_ up for debate. “Be back here in an hour. I will be done by then.”

He nods to her, then says something to his underlings, and the group heads off. Now, Moira is alone, physically at least. There’s no doubt Sombra’s following her progress through the cameras, and will be watching whatever goes down, if anything goes down. But Moira is used to this. There’s no true privacy in Talon HQ. In fact, she suspects there may even be cameras in the bathrooms, although those, at least, are well hidden. They at least give the illusion of privacy.

As Moira enters the room, unconsciously smoothing down her lab coat as she does so, her gaze goes first to the camera in the corner. The red light is blinking. It’s recording. That’s no surprise. Then, and only then, does she allow herself to look at Angela, who’s sitting, chained to a chair at a table between that one and another, and wearing the usual black jumpsuit.

_“You look amazing today,” Angela says in awe. Moira unconsciously straightens her tie. “Really. You wear a tux better than some guys I know.”_

_“If you think I look amazing, take a look at yourself,” Moira counters. “You look so good in a dress, especially that one. Matches your eyes.” Angela blushes._

_“Well, uh, thank you…?” Angela manages awkwardly. Her blush only deepens. She never could take a compliment. “We should probably get going before something comes up, though, and make the most of tonight.”_

_“Agreed.” Moira takes Angela’s hand in hers. “I'm ready whenever you are, my dear.”_

“I had a feeling they might put you in charge of me,” Angela says dryly. Her eyes are not filled with grief, loss, or any sort of melancholy, but anger. Good. She’ll last longer this way. “Some sort of twisted irony.” Moira’s heart sinks. She can’t seem to meet Angela’s gaze any longer, so she doesn’t, and instead pulls out the chair opposite Angela and takes a seat.

_“You ever wonder what it would be like if you were in Overwatch, and I was in Blackwatch?” Angela asks. “You know, if our places were somehow switched?” It's an odd question, and Moira wonders momentarily where it came from. The two of them are currently on the roof of the Swiss HQ, watching what the media has been calling the meteor shower of the century. They aren't the only ones. In fact, Moira thinks she can see Morrison and Reyes not too far away._

_Come to think of it, they're probably where Angela’s question came from._

_“Not really,” Moira replies, keeping a close eye on the sky. “Probably a good thing that we are where we are, though.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Well, my dear,” Moira says, “you know how I feel about regulations. I wouldn't last a day in the main branch of Overwatch, and considering what Blackwatch is like sometimes, I doubt you would last long, either.” Angela doesn't respond immediately, and eventually Moira glances over at her. She's smiling._

_“True that,” Angela says, and leans in. Moira closes her eyes and does so as well. They kiss. When they break apart, the sky has erupted into shooting star after shooting star. “Moira, look!”_

_“I’m looking,” Moira says, “and it looks amazing. I know someone who looks even more amazing, though, and I'm sitting right next to her.”_

_Angela laughs. “Moira!”_

“I don’t know who you mean by they,” Moira says at last, “but you’re wrong. I chose to do this.”

‘Why?” Angela’s overall expression doesn’t change, although Moira suspects she’s reeling inside. That’s not good.

“Well,” Moira folds her hands, braces herself, and forces her gaze upwards again, meeting Angela’s. “I suppose you could say that I was the only person willing.” Angela says nothing, although Moira knows she wants to, so she continues. “There are many here who want you dead.”

Angela thinks on this for a moment. “And you don’t.” Internally, Moira’s glad that she isn’t showing much in the way of emotion. She’s also internally cheering for her, but that’s beside the point.

Moira shrugs slightly, feigning nonchalance. “Not yet,” she says, and silently adds, _not ever._ “Now, shall we begin?”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Angela doesn’t even flinch, to her credit, although Moira’s internally cringing at herself, this situation, this whole organization. However, she doesn’t show it, because she quite simply _can’t._

_“You’re leaving?” Angela says in disbelief. “But you- we need you here!” Moira takes a shaky breath, the only luxury she’ll allow herself in this conversation._

_“No, you don’t,” Moira says. “Overwatch is under enough fire without my presence adding to it. This is what’s best for everyone involved.”_

_Angela scowls. “No, it isn’t! Maybe Overwatch doesn’t need you, but I do. Please… please don’t go.” Moira closes her eyes. When she opens them, they’re filled with resolve._

_“I’m sorry, Angela,” Moira says quietly, “but I have no other choice.” She pushes past Angela, out into the hallway, and takes the quickest route to the nearest exit, but she’s not fast enough._

_As she leaves the Watchpoint for the last time, she lifts her arm and wipes her eyes._

That night, Moira finds herself curled up in the shower - the one place she _knows_ there are no cameras - with a lukewarm cup of Irish coffee in one hand and an old picture in the other. In it, there are two women: one blonde, one redhead. The blonde is positively ecstatic, thrilled in every way possible, and generally quite cheerful. The redhead’s much less out there, but she’s smiling, too, and she has her arm around the blonde. They don’t look stressed, or worried. They actually look happy. Moira wonders if they’d still be happy if they knew what was happening between them now.

With a sigh, she finishes her coffee, folds up the photo carefully, and exits the shower. She needs to be careful with how much time she spends in there.

The last thing she needs is for someone to realize she’s getting sentimental.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the wifi here sucks, and I don't like posting stuff on my phone ahaha but I finally motivated to post Chapter 4! Yay me!
> 
> In other news, I now have the entire story drafted out. It's possible stuff will change, but chances are certain major plot points won't. If you want something of a hint as to what's to come, or at least where my inspiration came from? This version of the story was inspired and drafted almost entirely while I was listening to Weak, by AJR. On repeat. 'Cause that's just how I roll.
> 
> There was actually a past version, called To Dust or To Gold. It was heavily influenced by Centuries (Fall Out Boy) in case the title didn't clue you in to that. That past version involved the same major plot points, although Moira and Mercy were never a thing. That story kinda-sorta evolved into this one, and honestly I'm a lot happier with this one. :)

* * *

Time drags on. Days turn into weeks. Officially, Angela is simply proving extraordinarily resilient. Unofficially, Moira isn’t trying. She wonders if Angela has picked up on it yet, or if she ever will. Moira supposes that's not the big issue, though. Whether Talon has picked up on it is slightly more important, more relevant. Considering how ineffectual Talon has been in dealing with Overwatch so far, nobody is particularly suspicious, or so Moira thinks.

“Good of you to come,” Angela says as Moira walks in, with a great deal more hatred than usual. “Next time, don’t send one of your lackeys.” Moira freezes, nearly drops her clipboard. Angela looks terrible. Well, more terrible than usual. Someone attacked her, and Moira has a sinking suspicion who.

“I don’t have any lackeys,” Moira says as she puts a hand on Angela’s shoulder and sets her equipment to heal. “I was on a mission. Who did this to you?”

Angela glances up at her skeptically. Moira’s trying to ignore the fact that she’s shrinking away from her touch. She probably isn’t even aware she’s doing that. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Moira lies. “Who did this to you?”

Angela thinks on this. “One of the foot troops. They all look the same.”

“That they do,” Moira says as she scans her memory for something, anything, that can track this bastard down. Her gaze finds the door, although she’s thinking of who’s on the other side of it. “Did he… they… say anything? Have an accent?”

Angela nods. She looks significantly better already, physically. Moira supposes that’s a start.

“British, I think.”

“Alright.” Moira’s gaze hardens. She removes her hand from Angela’s shoulder and awkwardly drops it back to her side. “I’ll be back.” She doesn’t say anything else, instead exiting the door and setting her equipment to harm as she does so.

“That was fast,” one of the lower-ranking troops observes. She’s got some sort of Scandinavian accent, which leaves her out. However, she probably isn’t expecting Moira to respond.

“You’re dismissed,” Moira says quickly. All five get up. “Only her. The rest of you stay until you say something.”

The Scandinavian girl stays, to her credit, although if Moira’s hunch is right then her loyalty’s quite misplaced.

“Anything?” Another one asks. She can’t really tell their accent yet, so she nods. “Alright. Fuck you.” Although Moira’s tempted to make an example out of him, his accent’s Italian, so he’s not who she’s looking for. Unfortunately. Is he always this rude to his superiors? How is he still alive?

“No thanks,” Moira says, and turns to the next guy. “Your turn.”

“Uh, what are we doing?” He sounds confused, as well as American. Not British, not the one who attacked Angela.

“Nothing you need to know about,” Moira says. “Next.”

“Does this have to do with why you spent so little time in there?” The Scandinavian girl asks. Moira nods curtly. “Well, come on, guys. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired and hungry.”

“You’re free to go,” Moira mutters, returning her attention to the two who haven’t spoken: the leader and someone else. “As are the rest of you, minus these two.”

“Actually,” the person who isn’t the leader and hasn’t spoken yet says matter-of-factly, “they’re Asta, Francesco, and Dave. I’m Lia.” She’s also Spanish, which leaves only the leader.

“Fine,” Moira says, “but the four of you are free to go. Your former leader and I are going to have a little chat.”

Three of the four simply look confused, but Asta seems to get it. “Hold on. Former leader?”

“Yes,” Moira says. “Asta, correct? You are the new leader of this squad. Now, leave. That is an order.” The four look at each other and shuffle off, leaving only Moira and the (former) leader. It’s times like these she’s glad Talon gave her a hell of a lot of authority.

“So,” he says in a distinctly British accent, “care to explain why you just demoted me for no reason?”

Moira activates her equipment, and he cries out in pain, dropping to his knees. She glares at him.

“We both know the reason,” Moira says, crouching down to his level. “Now, I might spare your life if you tell me who ordered you to do it.” Naturally, instead of being reasonable, he spits in her face. Moira wipes it off with her sleeve and increases the pain level. To his credit, he doesn’t collapse entirely.

“I’ll die before I tell you,” he says harshly. “You traitor.”

_“Excuse you,” Moira says curtly. “Unlike you, I’m not a traitor.”  
_

_The reporter laughs. “Oh, you are. You’re a traitor to humanity, you and the rest of Blackwatch!”  
_

_“Alright,” Moira says, and yawns. “Anything you have to tell me that I actually give a damn about?”  
_

_“I’ll expose you all!” He flails wildly, clearly not expecting a woman in a lab coat to have a grip like she does. Unfortunately for him, Moira’s got one hell of a grip. “The world will know what you’ve done!”  
_

_Yeah, same shit as always.  
_

_“We’ll see what the Strike Commander has to say about that,” Moira says nonchalantly, and the reporter pales. “Since I’m sure you got his permission to come snooping around here and all.” If the terrified look on his face was any indication, he doesn’t have any sort of permission.  
_

_Later on, Moira hears from Reyes that the reporter got a restraining order, among other less-pleasant things. Moira allows herself a smirk at the news, and then proceeds to explain the situation to Angela._

_"They're just getting more and more bold," Angela muses aloud, sipping her coffee. "Well, it sounds like he got what he deserved."_

_"Indeed he did," Moira agrees. She taps out a reply to Reyes. "Unfortunately for them, they certainly aren't getting any smarter."_

_Angela laughs._

“Well,” Moira says nonchalantly, like she isn’t torturing someone, “there’s only one person with the authority to make you do that who also hates me enough to call me a traitor. I’ll send Reaper your regards.”

She’s actually guessing, but he doesn’t hide the shock in his eyes fast enough. Moira now knows full well who ordered him to do this, and Gabriel Reyes is going to have hell to pay at the next council meeting.

“In any case,” Moira says brightly, releasing him, “you’re dismissed. Go catch up with your squad, although I believe their new leader will be far better than you ever were.”

She finds out from Asta the next morning that he never made it. She's not surprised.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it happened. We have at least three chapters left at this point, though, possibly more if I wind up having to split chapters up. We shall see. Either way, holy heck has this been a journey. Thank you all for reading, and putting up with my general social awkwardness in the few author's notes I've done. (Why am I doing this now there's three chapters left-)

Surprisingly, Moira’s not on a mission when the inevitable happens: Overwatch finds the base. She’s honestly surprised they haven’t found it sooner, but that’s beside the point.

“Dr. O’Deorain,” Asta greets as she walks up, clearly in a hurry but desperately trying to pretend she’s not. _Nice try._ “Should we-?”

“Do what you think is best,” Moira advises, “but leave the prisoner to me.”

“We have orders to terminate her,” Lia pipes up, surprisingly excited considering the subject matter. Moira wonders, and not for the first time, how the hell someone that cheerful wound up in Talon. There has to be a story there, but still. Are they really that desperate for soldiers?

“I’m well aware,” Moira says. “And I will handle that. You will be more effective elsewhere.” Asta nods quickly, and the four hurtle off in the direction of the fighting. Moira takes a deep breath and opens the door, locking it behind her.

“Overwatch is here,” Angela says. It’s not phrased as a question. “And you’re here to kill me.” Moira says nothing at first, instead taking a seat across from her like normal. Then, suddenly, she pulls out a gun, more specifically Angela’s gun. The dinky little pistol they'd confiscated along with her suit. Despite its appearance, they both know it can do quite a lot of damage.

_“I get why I need a gun, self defense and all,” Angela says quietly, “but it goes against everything I stand for. I... I don't want to have to use it.” Moira frowns.  
_

_“Well,” Moira says after a moment, “if the others do their jobs, you won't have to.” She sips her coffee. Across from her, Angela does the same.  
_

_“But… what if I-”  
_

_“Angela, my dear,” Moira says quietly but firmly, “I know you well enough to know that you’ll do what you have to. And if you have to hurt someone, kill someone? That's okay. Because I'd much rather it were them than you.”_

“Overwatch is here,” Moira agrees, leveling it at Angela. She forces herself to meet that piercing blue gaze, but she doesn't find fear there. She finds determination.

“Well,” Angela says quietly, “get on with it, then.” Somehow, there's no bitterness in her voice, and that confuses Moira more than anything else.

_“So, run that by me one more time?” Moira asks, honestly rather confused. “Slower this time, my dear.” Angela simply grins.  
_

_“I think I've finally figured it out!” She says, quickly but fortunately not as quickly as before. “You know how I've been working on Project Valkyrie, right?”  
_

_Moira nods. “It's quite literally all you've been working on recently. So you've had a breakthrough?”  
_

_“I think so,” Angela says. It's clear she can barely contain her excitement, and it's adorable. “If I can just get it to work…”  
_

_“It’ll work,” Moira insists. “It might take a while, but knowing you, you’ll make it happen, my dear. I know you will.”  
_

_Angela grins as she raises her mug to her lips. “I could use some… assistance, of course.”  
_

_“Well,” Moira says, knowing full well that this no longer has anything to do with Project Valkyrie, “what kind of… assistance do you require?”  
_

_Angela’s mischievous smirk tells her everything she needs to know._

Moira flips off the safety, and aims. Not that she has to, at such close range. Her finger finds the trigger, but she doesn't pull it. Moira blinks hard, gulps, and insists to herself that she's not crying.

_“Are you crying?” Moira asks quietly. Angela glances up. Her eyes, red and puffy, tell Moira everything she needs to know. Moira sighs, and takes a seat next to her. “Look, I get you don't like me, and I don't like you, but you look like you need a friend. If you'd rather, I can leave.” Angela manages a ghost of a smile, for maybe half a second. Moira supposes that’s something.  
_

_“No,” Angela says, so quietly that Moira can barely hear her. “Just… please, stay.” Moira nods, and leans back against the wall. Neither she nor Angela say anything for a spell, and that's alright, she supposes.  
_

_“I’ll be here,” Moira says. “Let me know if you want to talk about it, alright?”  
_

_“Thank you,” Angela murmurs. Moira nods respectfully. After a moment, she wipes her eyes and glances up. “But… why were you looking for me?”  
_

_Moira thinks up a bluff surprisingly quickly. “Reyes’ll have my head if we don't finish before the week is up, and as much as I hate to admit it, I can't finish the project alone.” For a moment, it looks like Angela’s actually bought it, and then their gazes meet.  
_

_“You were worried about me,” Angela realizes. “Weren't you?”  
_

_“Well, maybe.” Moira shrugs. “Define worried.”_

The safety goes on.

The gun goes on the table.

“Your suit is in a storage locker directly across from this room,” Moira says quickly. “The code is 05-24-16. Go towards the fighting and you’ll find the rest of Overwatch.” As she says this, she pulls a key from her pocket - whose idea was it to use manual handcuffs, anyway? - and begins to set Angela free.

As soon as the second manacle is unlocked, Angela doesn’t hesitate. She takes the gun, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, gets up and moves for the door. Her free hand finds the doorknob, but before she turns it, she looks back.

“Why are you helping me?” Angela asks. Moira thinks on this for a moment, thinks for some sort of excuse, and eventually settles on something closer to the truth.

“I think we both know why,” Moira says quietly, almost too quietly. “Now get going before I change my mind.”

Angela nods. She begins to turn the doorknob. Before she opens it, she glances back.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely. Moira nods, and says nothing. She does nothing until Angela is long gone, and then, without hesitation, she turns her equipment on herself.

_“You have to be more careful, Moira,” Angela insists as she wraps up Moira’s hand. “How did you accidentally stab yourself with a needle, anyway?” Moira shrugs slightly. The action hurts a bit, but she pays it no mind.  
_

_“Well, dear, just between you and me,” Moira lowers her voice, “it wasn't exactly an accident.”  
_

_Angela rolls her eyes. “Somehow, I'm not surprised.”  
_

_“You really shouldn't be,” Moira agrees as Angela fastens the bandage in place and snips off the end. “I do this sort of thing rather often, you know.”  
_

_“Yes, and one of these days you’re going to get in trouble for something big,” Angela says tiredly, “but for some reason I love you anyway.”  
_

_Moira opens her mouth to say something, then closes it and settles for a grin.  
_

_“You know,” Moira says at last, “the feeling is mutual, my dear.”_

“Holy _shit_ , is she dead?” Lia asks. Moira’s collapsed across the table, and everything hurts, everything minus her heart for the first time in a while. She mumbles something rather derogatory in Gaelic. “Nope, she’s alive!”

“For the love of God, Lia,” Francesco mutters, “shut the fuck up.”

“C'mon, Fran,” Dave counters, “be nice to the kid. She’s still pretty new.”

"There's new and there's idiotic. This kid is both."

“How about you all shut up,” Asta says, “before we all get in trouble for letting one of the actual important people bleed out. Dr. O’Deorain, what happened?” It takes Moira a second to realize Asta is talking to her, and she manages to push herself up slightly before answering.

“I got cocky,” Moira says. Her mouth feels dry. She wonders for a moment how long she was out for. “She managed to turn my tech on me, and… I don’t know where she went.”

“She escaped,” Francesco says helpfully, “so we’re all fucked.”

“No, you’re not,” Moira mutters, and manages a sort of sitting position where she can at least look at the four. “I am.”

“You are?” Lia asks. “Who?”

It takes both Asta and Dave to keep Francesco from strangling the poor girl, and it takes a significant amount of effort for Moira to avoid laughing, because that would probably hurt a lot. Well, a lot more, anyway. Maybe turning her technology on herself wasn’t the greatest idea she’s ever had, but that doesn't matter. Angela is no longer in danger, and that’s what matters.

For the first time in years, Moira’s heart is no longer heavy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey what do you know, I updated. So, I got Skyrim for Christmas. I think I've found my next obsession. Unfortunately, the game keeps glitching and not letting me continue on the main quest, which is annoying, which is why I'm here. Thank the bug that won't let me learn Dragonrend. His name is Steve.

Surprisingly, nobody seems to know what Moira actually did. Gabriel mutters something about how she should have killed Angela long ago, Akande is a lot more sympathetic, Maximilien… it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking, as he says nothing. Then, when she’s still recovering in the sick bay, the one person Moira knows won’t have missed it shows up.

“You know, I never took you for a lesbian,” Sombra says dryly, leaning against the wall. Moira really shouldn’t be surprised. In her defense, she may or may not be on less-than-legal amounts of painkillers. “Then again, I never took you for the sentimental type, either.”

With a bit of a struggle, Moira pushes herself up to a sitting position and fixes Sombra with the worst glare she can muster. Considering her current situation, it’s probably not all that intimidating. It’s equally likely that Sombra simply doesn't care. The reality is probably somewhere in the middle.

“Do you have an actual reason for being here?” Moira asks, crossing her arms. “I know you doctored the footage.”

Sombra laughs. “Well, of course! If they knew what you did, you’d be dead several times over by now, amiga!”

_Really._

“I'm well aware,” Moira says flatly. “So why did you do it?”

Sombra shrugs easily. “Why'd you nearly kill yourself?”

“You know why,” Moira mutters.

“Yeah,” Sombra agrees, “but I want to hear you say it.”

Of course she does.

“Because,” Moira mutters matter-of-factly, “we were something once. And…”

“And?” Sombra prompts, grinning like an idiot. She may be many things, most of which aren't good, but she's most certainly not an idiot. Moira wonders for a moment why she cares.

“I still love her,” Moira says quietly. Her glare returns, and she decides to risk a question. “Why do you care?”

Sombra shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a romantic, amiga. Also gay is the way.”

“So let me get this straight,” Moira says, “you're hiding the fact that I definitely betrayed Talon because you, what’s the word, shit us.”

“I mean, close enough,” Sombra agrees. “Although you owe me, amiga. Big-time. And I'll be cashing that favor in soon enough. Also, it’s called _shipping,_ not _shitting._ Would make for some pretty interesting fanfiction, though.”

Moira groans, and lowers herself back down. The ceiling isn't exactly interesting to look at, but it's at least better than Sombra’s face.

“I'm sure it would,” Moira agrees, not particularly caring one way or the other. “I'm assuming you've done something to keep this conversation off the records.”

Sombra nods. “It’ll start recording again once I leave.” She waves cheekily. “Adiós.” Within seconds, she dissolves into purple pixels, leaving nothing behind save a headache. 

 _Well,_ Moira thinks, _that might be the painkillers wearing off._ She wouldn't put it past Sombra to have figured out some way to actually give people headaches, though. Moira continues staring up at the ceiling, because it’s not like she's got anything better to do. However, her thoughts are soon in a different time and place, back when everything was going well, back before... this.

Moira remembers how the media claimed she had no morals, long ago. Perhaps they were onto something.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna finish this! Mainly because Steve is still giving me trouble. If anyone knows how to fix him on PS4, please let me know. It's getting tiring. Really. And I want to learn how to kick Alduin's butt. (This is why we need console commands on console...)

All in all, Moira is out of commission for a grand total of two weeks. It would have been shorter, could have been shorter, if the other medics had actually known what they were dealing with. Clearly, they didn't. Moira supposes she should consider herself lucky that she wasn't out of it for longer, but that's beside the point. Irrelevant. Doesn't matter. What does matter, however, is figuring everything out, preferably before they arrive at the drop point.  
  
"It'll be a nice, easy mission," Gabriel growls. Moira glances at him skeptically. They both know full well that no mission has been easy lately. "Dr. O'Deorain."   
  
"Hm?" Moira asks, meeting his gaze with her own.   
  
Gabriel crosses his arms, and leans against the wall. He says nothing, not at first.   
  
"What is it?" Moira presses, and goes through a mental list of things this could be about. Well, actually, she stops at the first item, because there's nothing else it really can be about.   
  
"Sombra's intel suggests Ziegler will be here," he says, and Moira's not at all surprised. "Will you be able to kill her."   
  
"Will I-?" Moira attempts a surprised look. "Are you doubting me, Reyes?'   
  
"Not at all," Gabriel mutters. "Just your tech."   
  
Moira thinks she knows where he's going with this, but she's not about to play into his hands. She nods for him to continue.   
  
"Seeing as she was able to use it against you before," Gabriel says, "what's to stop her from doing it again?"   
  
"I've of course upgraded my equipment," Moira replies indignantly, "and I will assure you, she will not turn it against me again."   
  
"Are you certain your tech is the problem?" Gabriel asks, and Moira can practically feel his glare. He knows, or at the very least has guessed. However, Moira will not give him the satisfaction of confirmation.   
  
"Not anymore, it isn't," Moira says curtly. "Are you... implying something, Reyes?"   
  
"Not at all," Gabriel replies coldly. The rest of the ride is spent in silence.   
  
When they arrive, there's a crackling in their earpieces, and then a certain rather annoying someone's voice.   
  
"Sombra online," Sombra says matter-of-factly. "Overwatch is already here, but they haven't triggered the alarms. Surprisingly. Want me to fix that?"   
  
"Go ahead," Gabriel mutters. "It'll hurt them more then us."   
  
"I'm on it, boss," Sombra replies, and within seconds, a siren begins blaring. "Best part is, they think they tripped it themselves. They were like, this close to actually doing it themselves. Another minute and they would have. Stealth isn't exactly their forte, you know."   
  
"I'm aware," Gabriel says darkly. "Who's there? Can we handle them by ourselves or should we wait for the corp forces to tire them out?"   
  
"Well," Sombra says tentatively, "Morrison's there."   
  
Gabriel groans. "Of course he is. Great. Who else?"   
  
"Both Shimadas, the Amari who doesn't fly around, Wilhelm, and... Ziegler."   
  
Gabriel looks ready to shoot something at this point, not that he isn't always. He crouches for a moment, shotguns at the ready, thinking, and Moira waits.   
  
"Got it," Gabriel mutters. "Sombra, see if you can cut any of them off from the others."   
  
"Way ahead of you, boss," Sombra says. "Door's closing in three, two, one... Ziegler's cut off. I'll see if I can display her approximate location on your HUD."   
  
Nothing came up on Moira's screen, but apparently something did for Gabriel. He chuckled darkly. "I'll handle this. O'Deorain, hang back for now. If you get a chance to pick off anyone, go for it." Gabriel's gone, just like that, in a homicidal cloud of smoke.   
  
"Doctor. O'Deorain," Moira mutters. More choice words are on the tip of her tongue, but anything else she was going to say dies in her throat when a blinking purple dot appears on her HUD. There's no mistaking what it is, especially when there's a purple skull in the corner.   
  
"So Gabe can't hear us right now. Anyway," Sombra says, "that's two you owe me, so get in there and don't die because I want to cash in those favors."   
  
Moira doesn't bother responding. Instead, she fades. She's a good thirty seconds behind Gabriel, but she knows all too well how much of a difference thirty seconds can make. When she gets there, she thinks she's already too late. Angela's in a crumpled heap on the ground, and Gabriel's standing over her triumphantly.   
  
Too late or not too late, that doesn't matter. Moira's mind has been made up since she hightailed it out of the ship. Moira fades out, giving herself just enough speed to slam into Gabriel with just enough force to send him flying.   
  
Angela yells something, and Moira only is relieved for a moment before Gabriel strikes back. It takes significantly less effort for him to send her flying, and although Moira does her best to fight back, her biotic grasp isn't very effective when compared to double shotguns at point-blank range.   
  
Moira's been shot before, but not with a shotgun, never mind two. Pain explodes in a million places at once, and Moira screams. Her biotic grasp flickers and dies. She tries in vain to bring it back, even as she drops to her knees. It doesn't come. In a last-ditch effort to fight back, or even fight at all, she attempts to fade out. She gets maybe a moment's reprieve before that too craps out, and now she's both on the ground and has a shotgun to her head.   
  
Only then does the realization finally hit her, that she's going to die. And the thing is, that realization doesn't actually bother her all that much. After everything, she honestly deserves this. Her only hope is that Angela makes it out, because she deserves to live.   
  
"Pity it had to end like this," Gabriel remarks, although Moira really should be referring to him as Reaper by now. Clearly, he's not the same person she knew in Blackwatch. It took her far too long to accept that. "You were a good scientist."   
  
Moira doesn't bother to look at him. "You were a good commander, before you became an angsty little bitch." He doesn't bother to use his shotguns this time. He doesn't need to. His boots are equally effective, and they make everything hurt all over again, but it's worth it. It's all worth it, as long as...   
  
Moira catches a glimpse of white behind Reaper, and her heart sinks. If Angela hasn't run already, then Reaper'll catch up to her easily, and this was all for nothing, and... and Moira's failed.   
  
"Drop the shotguns," Angela says suddenly. "You might be hard to kill, but I'm willing to bet a shot to the head will put you out of commission for quite some time."   
  
_What the-?_ _  
_   
With a great deal of difficulty, Moira lifts her head, and sees something that simply can't be possible. She has to be hallucinating. She has to be. This shouldn't be possible. And yet...   
  
Angela's not crumpled in a heap on the other side of the room anymore. She's standing, and she's holding her pistol to the back of Reaper's head, and she's _okay_ . That's more than can be said for Moira at this point, so that's definitely a good thing.   
  
"Drop. The shotguns," Angela orders again. "Now, or I _will_ shoot."   
  
Slowly, carefully, Reaper lets them fall. Moira doesn't doubt that he's planning something, and that something will likely result in both of their deaths.   
  
"Yo, boss," Sombra says suddenly, "I hate to interrupt but you should probably get over to the actual objective, because Overwatch is winning."   
  
_That's three you owe me,_ Moira imagines Sombra saying. Reaper dissolves into smoke, flees, and as he does so Moira lets her head drop to the floor. It's freezing. Seems like this corporation overuses the air conditioning just as much as any other place. It's oddly comforting, in a way, to know that she's going to die in a place like any other.


	8. Chapter 8

Moira struggles to keep her eyes open, although she's not entirely sure why she bothers. She's going to die anyway, so why postpone it? Still... she forces herself to stay awake, because she knows full well that if she lets her eyes close, she'll never wake up. Not that never waking up would necessarily be a bad thing, considering... well, everything.

Someone rolls her over, and she doesn't resist. She also knows perfectly well who that someone is. Despite this, she's still surprised when her eyes meet Angela's, because Angela's are full of concern. Maybe... maybe she didn't screw up so badly after all, but still...

"I don't deserve this," Moira manages as Angela goes for her staff and activates it.

"Sure you don't," Angela snaps. "Now hold still so I can save your life." She props the activated staff against the wall.

"No, really, I-"

Angela brushes her hair out of her eyes, and glares at Moira. "Can we maybe discuss this when you're _not_ bleeding out?"

She’s not the same person as before, that much is clear. She’s less naive, for one thing. If Moira’s being honest, she’s acting quite a lot like the Moira of old, the Moira of Blackwatch. The Moira who would do anything for her. For a moment, Moira wonders if she’s aware of the change. Probably not. It would seem gradual to Angela, after all.

"You should be with the rest of your team," Moira protests weakly. "Not here, trying to save someone who doesn't deserve it."

"Enough with you not deserving this, because you _do_ deserve this!" Angela thinks on this for a moment. "And anyway, they'll be fine, they've got Ana."

"Give me one good reason why I deserve this," Moira counters. Angela's gaze hardens.

"You know what? I'll give you three," she says, determination written all over her features. "One, you didn't kill me when you had explicit orders to do so."

Moira stays silent. She's got a point there.

"Two," Angela continues, "you nearly killed yourself in an attempt to save my life."

"In my defense," Moira interrupts, "I wasn't planning on it going this badly."

"Shut up, and three," Angela says, "I still love you."

“You-” Mentally, Moira’s jaw drops. Physically, she instead raises an eyebrow, although it hurts to even do that. "Run that by me again?"

_“Look, Moira?” Angela says. She’s nervous, and Moira can’t seem to figure out why. “I… I’m going to hate myself if I don’t say something about this, so I… uh…” She takes a deep breath. “I love you.”_

_With that bombshell dropped, she hightails it for the door of Moira’s lab, leaving a rather dumbfounded redhead in her wake. Later that night, they cross paths again, in front of the coffee machine. Unsurprisingly, Angela is a blushy mess. She’s rather adorable that way._

_“Hey, what you said earlier,” Moira says, “run that by me again?”_

_“I love you,” Angela says automatically, then claps her hands over her mouth. “And I-I’m sorry if you don’t swing that way, we can just pretend this never happened or we can just never talk again if you’d rather, I just had to get it out and I just-”_

_“Angela, calm down.” Moira says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Before you continue to make a fool of yourself, let’s put it this way: about time.”_

_Angela blinks, confused. “What?”_

_“It’s been painfully obvious you liked me as more than a friend for a while,” Moira admits, giving Angela a smirk. “You’re about as subtle as a freight train.”_

_“Oh.” Angela turns a bright red._

_“Anyway,” Moira says, “at first I considered you annoying. Then I figured you were a good friend, even if you were a little annoying. You’re still annoying, but…”_

_“But…?”_

_“I guess you could say I love you too.”_

"I still love you," Angela repeats, "and it's rather obvious you still love me. So if you're not going to live for your own sake, live for mine. Please."

Moira opens her mouth to argue, then thinks better of it.

"I've already lost you once," Angela says quietly. "I'm not going to lose you again."

 _Well,_ Moira thinks, _can't argue with that._

Perhaps she just doesn't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck I can't believe it's actually over. Moira's line about Angela being about as subtle as a freight train is based on my own life and experiences <3 (If you're reading this, it really was painfully obvious lol I was beginning to wonder if you would ever say anything. Glad you did~!)
> 
> Anyway, I... may have plans for a sequel in the works, but nothing concrete yet. Let me know in the comments what you'd like to see in a sequel with the two of them in Overwatch together, being very very gay <3 I've got the basic plot but there's room for a lot more, and ideas are MUCH appreciated!
> 
> In the meantime, thank you all so much for reading, and putting up with my sporadic updates, and I'll see y'all in the next story~! Nevermind that I just basically copied Markiplier's outro. In my defense I watched a lot of him when I was younger. Still do as a matter of fact. But yeah, thank you. Really. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I do have a Tumblr! It's [Crazy Fic Lady](http://soulstealer1987.tumblr.com/), so hit me up if you want. I might post extra stuff there.


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